say kyrie, say coracle, say curette
cure us, priest, of our oohs & aahs
care for us lest we care for ourselves
crying humbles us, though some of us
never do it, never let the knee
touch the ground, even when
it’s only the mirror watching — what
did Marie Curie think of her burned fingers
what salve, what excuse allowed her
to spurn pain, to visit her lab at night
— ah, the luminous glowing vials —
to dare more damage every day
chemist, carousel, calliope
each poet turns her face inside
so often the number of geese
veed in a skein is twelve, or if not
then thirteen, what of thirteen pelicans
strung across the sky like asymmetrical
cross-stitch — the long cupped wings
the shorter head to tail — they glide
above the beach as if tracing
a parallel line, skim the sea along
the same parallel, their wingtips
nearly touching the waves in search of
food, then the sudden lift & whirl & plunge
each strike punishingly loud, their eyes
open to see the fish, rumor only
says pelicans go blind from their dives
woozy from the bonfire’s heat
too tired to move, I slump on a rock
across the dry stream & pick
packaging — plastic bags & cups & straws
sodden cotton — from forest duff
what careless & carefree children
picnicked here? more than once
I’ve culled leaves for their leavings
reds, yellows, blues, & whites, scraps
surviving dirt & time, forever lost
the giggles, make-believe, & songs
I celebrate all the same colors
encourage every species to spread
embroideries of wildflower zest
each day I wake to poor balance, to limbs
& my back stiff, aching, often newly bruised
my skin mottles with brown spots, crusty
circular growths, my red eyes leak & blur
don’t be alarmed, nothing’s amiss — it’s age
I’ve lived years beyond what nature planned
suffered ear infections, motorcycle accidents
ulcers, four failed joints, I fell & broke my arm
plus all I’ve forgotten, ailments large & small
hay fever, childhood fevers, panic, anxiety
medics treat us — scalpels, doses, casts
so we recover to live another many years
until something comes along & nails us
finally & forever, out there, a new day
death is an accident, all the times
ill as I was, I might have died & didn’t
like days the sun might have blazed
in cloudless sky, yet gray rain came
peaceful the rain, like fruit ripening
like cats purring inside my ear
like nursing, my son’s hand opening
fingering closing on breast’s flesh
his suck depleting my ailing self
the way a downspout swallows rain
I would eat the banana on the shelf
beside me, then the bread, gobs
of sweet butter — life gave me sons
they fed me, taught me why to live
